Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (9 page)

H
ER SLEEP WAS DEEP AND ENDLESS, A LONG SLOW UNWINDING
of time and space. She floated on the air currents of the world, riding the back of the wind, gliding like a bird across the sky from light to dark, day to night. Her journey was smooth and undisturbed, and she drifted in her dreams from the real to the imagined and back again. At times, she dwelled in the past amid memories of what had once been and now was forever gone, as if she were paging through a book in which pictures captured perfectly the years of her life. At times, she was cocooned by blackness with no pictures, no memories, and no sense of what had been or might be; only a warm, comforting sense of well-being
.

But at other times, she could hear and see and smell and taste the world about her, the one that was real and present and active even though she lay dormant. She could see the faces of those she knew and hear their words as they lived their daily lives while she slept. The voices whispered and buzzed and told her of the fears and hopes and joys and promises of the people she monitored in her subconscious, tracking their movements and reading their thoughts in a slow, languid unraveling that was able to penetrate even the deepest layers of her sleep. The effort came unbidden and as a consequence of the magic that shaped her half-life sleep, so it was always there, weaving its way through the stretches of darkness and sudden bursts of dreaming and small moments of remembering. It was there in the way that her breathing was there, a function of her body, a necessary reaction to her need to stay alive and informed within the confines of her strange and special sleep
.

She drifted and spun, waiting for the time when she would be awakened. She flew unfettered, knowing that one day, when it was time, waking would come, brought about by a hand on her shoulder or a voice in her ear
.

Or come instead when her own monitoring of the world told her that it was time …

Time …

Time …

Her eyes blinked open, and Khyber Elessedil, Ard Rhys of the Fourth Druid Order, came awake.

She lay wrapped within coverings in a chamber whose walls were layered with tapestries and whose windows were covered and sealed with heavy drapes. There were no lamps or candles in the room, and the light that seeped through past the edges of the drapes was pale and gray. It was either early morning or evening. She did not move at first, but lay collecting her thoughts and recovering her memories from where she had shelved them when she first entered the Druid Sleep. Years ago now, she guessed, but it was impossible to tell without talking to someone who had been awake and monitored time’s passing while she slept.

How much had changed? How different was the world into which she had awoken from the one in which she had slept?

Something had summoned her from her sleep, a thought or a dream, a voice or an act, but a thing of such power and immediacy that it commanded her attention and demanded that she be present. No one had come to her; no one had disturbed her sleep. This was something else. This was raw instinct telling her it was time to come awake.

And so she had obeyed.

She sat up slowly, taking her time, lifting the covers away so she could sit on the edge of her bed and determine that her sense of balance and the strength of limbs and body were sufficient to allow her to function. When she was satisfied, she stood up and walked to the
closest window and looked out. She was facing west and could see the sun just slipping behind the horizon as the shadows of the forest trees stretched toward Paranor’s walls and towers with inky fingers.

She turned away and stood looking into the darkness of her chamber. She must discover why was she awake, what it was that in her dreams or subconscious musings had been so compelling.

She closed her eyes, centered herself, and waited.

Elfstones
.

The word came unbidden, but she couldn’t know its portent.

She walked to the dressing table, shedding her sleepwear as she went, soaked the washcloth that was always waiting next to the basin of water that was always kept fresh, and began to wash herself. When she was finished, she dried and dressed in fresh clothing chosen from her closet. Her Druid Sleep was ended. She was back in the real world to deal with whatever real problem was waiting.

She walked to the mirror and began to brush her long, once-dark hair, streaked now with gray, the years having caught up to her in spite of the temporary reprieves granted her by the Druid Sleep. She had used it five times since becoming Ard Rhys, each period chosen carefully and with consideration for how matters fared both within and without the walls of the Keep. She had been alive for almost 110 years, yet she looked 50. She glanced at the reflection of her mostly unlined face. Possibly even younger, she corrected herself. But she did not take the sleep out of vanity or a desire to prolong her life; it was out of need and worry. Before she could give herself over to the death that awaited them all, Druid Sleep or no, she needed to find the next Ard Rhys. Among the members of the order, among those who had come late into her service but had stayed true to their vows, she must find a new leader.

She wondered suddenly how many remained of those she had left behind.

She would know soon. She hoped all had stayed. Bombax, Aphenglow, Pleysia, Carrick, Rendellin, and Seersha—they were among the best of those who had served. All of those with whom she had begun the new order in the time of Grianne Ohmsford were gone. Age and circumstance had caught up to them. None slept the Druid Sleep
save the Ard Rhys, so it was inevitable that at some point she would find herself alone.

But others had traveled this path before her, and so she did not complain. She had made the choice all those years ago. It was pointless to harbor regrets now.

She finished with her brushing and stood looking at her face: Elven to the core with all of the defining, distinctive features. An Elessedil, like Aphenglow, and it had made her think now and again that the young woman was the best choice to lead those who remained. But Aphenglow was conflicted and troubled by what she had done in choosing a life in the Druid order over one in the Elven community. The resentment and disappointment of the Elves shrouded and haunted her. She was not at peace, and Khyber did not think she could lead until she was.

The others were a mix of raw talent and dangerous flaws. But she did not care to consider the matter just now and so pushed it aside.

She was wrapped in her Druid robes and standing just inside the door, preparing to go out, when she heard the latch release and quickly stepped back.

Aphenglow appeared in the doorway and on seeing her was so startled she gave a small cry. “Mistress! I didn’t … I thought …”

Khyber extended her arms in greeting. “It’s all right, Aphen. I came awake on my own. Is that why you are here? To wake me?”

The young woman nodded. “My return from Arborlon is the reason for needing to do so, and I thought it should be me.”

“Is it something about the Elfstones?”

Aphenglow looked shocked. “How did you know? I only just found the diary three days ago! But you already know?”

Khyber smiled. “I know only a little. You can tell me the rest. Are the others waiting on you? Good, then let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” She hesitated. “Tell me. How long have I been sleeping?”

“Five years, Mistress.”

That long. She sighed, took the young Elf’s arm in her own, and side by side they walked from the sleeping chamber into the waking world.

She was hungry, even though the sleep kept her sufficiently nourished, hydrated, and muscle-toned. But she put aside thoughts of food and drink and followed Aphenglow straight to the chamber where the others were gathered.

“Rendellin disappeared two years ago,” Aphen was telling her as they neared the chamber doors, responding to her question about who still served the order. She saw Garroneck standing watch, face expressionless, only his eyes revealing a hint of surprise. “We looked,” Aphen finished, “but we never found out what happened to him.”

Bad things happened
, Khyber thought. So, another gone. Now there were only five besides herself. The order was still too small and too weak. She needed to find a way to strengthen it.

She greeted Garroneck with a smile and a touch on his broad shoulder as he opened the door for her. Inside, the others were gathered about the table talking. They turned to look and went instantly silent before coming to their feet.

“She shouldn’t have woken you, Mistress,” Pleysia said at once.

“I woke without help.” Khyber motioned for them to sit. “We have business to discuss, and we should do it now.”

For the next hour, she listened to a reading of Aleia Omarosian’s diary followed by a heated discussion about its validity and intent. She let the others argue until she felt everything new or interesting had been said, and then brought the discussion to a halt.

“What are your thoughts, Mistress?” Carrick asked her.

“My thoughts?” She smiled. “In the main, I don’t think you want to know. As for the diary, it is possible we have discovered what happened to the missing Elfstones. More important, there is at least a remote chance we might be able to track them down. Aphen was right in bringing the diary to Paranor, and I am proud that she took the risk. If she had been caught, there is every chance we would not have seen her again. I am also proud of her for defending herself and protecting the diary twice when she was attacked.”

Aphenglow blushed deeply. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“I regret that you were forced to kill a man. But it is clear evidence of the determination of those involved. I would not expect that these
attacks were undertaken solely for the purpose of harming you, although we cannot dismiss the possibility out of hand. But I think it more likely it was the diary they were after—that even without knowing exactly what you had found, they suspected it had value. Did you sense that you were being watched at any time during your research, Aphen?”

The young woman shook her head. “My guard was up; my wards were always in place. I made certain to secure the rooms in which I worked, and I checked my preparations each day. I was always alone save when either my sister or my uncle came to see how I was, which was infrequently. I did not sense another’s presence the entire time I was working. I could not have been spied upon without knowing it.”

“You were there for almost a year. Someone might have found a way.”

Aphenglow shook her head. “I would have sensed it. Anyway, who would go to such trouble?”

“Someone who was afraid you might find something useful regarding the old magic and either not give it to them or give it to the wrong people.”

Aphenglow shook her head, troubled and uncertain. The idea was appalling, even now.

“Do you think the Elves themselves might have done this?” Seersha asked quickly. “Attack the King’s granddaughter?”

“Or someone who hates the Druids,” Bombax broke in. “Someone who would like to see the order disbanded and their magic confiscated and destroyed.”

He explained what had happened the previous day in Arishaig with the death of the old Prime Minister and the election of Drustan Chazhul. Khyber listened and nodded. “Perhaps. Anything is possible. What matters is that someone thinks what Aphen has brought us has value.”

“Or might have value,” Pleysia corrected. “The attempt to steal the diary might have been a protective measure to assure that nothing gets taken out of those storerooms, no matter the value.”

“A preventive act?” Khyber rose and walked over to the chamber
doors and opened them. “Would you find something for me to eat and drink?” she asked Garroneck as he stepped forward to see what she required. “Bring it here.”

When he was gone, she dismissed the others, all save Aphenglow, whom she asked to remain behind. With the young Elven woman sitting across from her, she read through the entirety of the diary, pausing only to eat and drink when Garroneck brought her hot food and cold ale.

“Where is Woostra?” she asked her Troll Captain as he was leaving. “He is still with us, isn’t he?”

Garroneck nodded. “Very much so. He is probably down in the library, poring through his books. Do you wish to see him?”

She nodded, and the big Troll departed to find him. Woostra was her personal secretary and the keeper of the Druid records. When she wanted to know something about the history of the Four Lands, she went first to him. She finished her meal while waiting, feeling a measure of strength and contentment return as a result. She had nearly finished reading through the rest of the diary when Woostra finally rushed in, somewhat in a state of dishevelment.

“Mistress, I didn’t realize you were awake.” Rail-thin and bent, he might have weighed a little more than a wool travel cloak soaked through. Hair stuck out of his large ears and tunneled down his neck. His chin hooked up and his nose hooked down.
Odd looking
didn’t begin to cover it, but his memory was astounding and his work ethic faultless. “Are you well? You look perplexed. Do you need help with something? You must tell me at once!”

That was Woostra, somewhat overbearing but always anxious to help. “I want to know if you have ever come across the name Aleia Omarosian in our books and papers.”

Woostra assumed a thoughtful pose, gaze directed outward through the nearest window in a thousand-yard stare. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Will you have a fresh look to see if there might be a mention somewhere? Look, as well, for references to the Elfstones. Any of the Elfstones, not just the blue ones. Take your time. Do a thorough search.”

“Mistress!” He straightened to his full height, which just about brought him up to Aphenglow’s shoulder. “I am not aware that I have ever performed any other kind!”

Looking misunderstood and put upon, he wheeled about and left the room without glancing back.

“Awfully thin-skinned, isn’t he?” Khyber said, mostly to herself.